


Highways Lined With Graves

by doctor__idiot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Child Neglect, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Parenthood, Slow Build, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-02-14 12:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13007436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: Dean comes back from a solo hunt to find the motel room he shares with his father empty. When John still hasn’t returned the next day and Dean’s inquiries have resulted in nothing, he considers calling his brother Sam at Stanford. His last resort.But before he can even make the decision, his phone rings and Sam is on the other end. He sounds halfway to drunk and, frankly, beyond miserable. His rambling doesn’t make much sense and all Dean gets from it is that his little brother is asking for his help before the call disconnects. Between the cryptic phone call and his dad disappearing, Dean throws his duffel in the car without hesitation and hauls ass to Palo Alto, California. It takes him almost a day to get there but even all those hours and all the different scenarios he imagined he might find in Sam’s apartment, not one of them could have prepared him for the scene that actually unfolds before him when he gets there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has sprung from an idea a friend of mine had, actually. She told me how she would have loved for Sam and Jess to have had a child. And then, of course, being the sadistic writer that I am, I replied "Oh my god, what if she _died_ after having the child?" So yeah. This is my take on that. With added Wincest sprinkles on top. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine. No money. Not beta'd. Rating may change.

Dean pulled himself out of the car, his father’s heavy leather jacket weighing him down. He was covered in muck, the cut in his thigh smarting like a son of a bitch, smoke clinging to his hair. He was sucking on the side of his thumb, the one he had accidentally burned with his lighter earlier.

The lights were out in the motel room he shared with his father so Dean guessed he wasn’t back yet from his own hunt. It had been two days and Dean was getting restless. It wasn’t like they communicated constantly but they did check in occasionally and so far there hadn’t been so much as a text message.

He switched on the light in the room, taking in the unchanged scene that looked just as messy as he had left it the day before, and changed out of his clammy clothes. He dropped them on the floor to be dealt with later and trudged into the tiny bathroom. The shower was narrow but the water was hot and he let it relax his muscles and warm his body, washing away the grime and the dried blood.

Once dry, he checked the cut on his leg but it wasn’t deep enough to require stitches so he simply grabbed a bit of gauze from their first aid kit, pressed it over the wound and taped it down. Briefly he was reminded of the time when he hadn’t had to do it himself, when his little brother had still been around to do it for him, and the memory sent a vicious stab through his chest.

He was too tired to go out and find something to eat, so he collapsed onto his bed after putting on a clean set of clothes. If John wasn’t back the next day, he would call and make sure that he was all right.

By the time Dean had grabbed breakfast, his phone still showed no missed calls from his father. He thumbed the quick dial while sipping his morning coffee and let it ring at least ten times.

Then he called Bobby, his father’s closest friend. The old man picked up on the third ring.

“Dean?”

“Hey yah, Bobby.” Dean swallowed around his breakfast burrito. “Listen, you heard anything from dad?”

There was a short pause on the line. “No, son. Should I have? Don’t think I’ve heard from ‘im in a month to be honest.”

Dean hummed. “Alright. Thanks anyway.”

“Dean, what’s goin’ on?”

Dean swallowed. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

He was sure Bobby could hear it in his voice that he was lying but he didn’t have the time or the patience to explain, he needed to make more calls.

“Alright,” Bobby said, reading Dean’s silence correctly, “Call me when you know where he is.”

“Sure thing.”

Dean spent the next thirty minutes on the phone to various other hunters he could think of that they had run with that John might have contacted, but Dean’s efforts yielded no results. He tried his father again, listening to the dial tone until he couldn’t stand it anymore. Clutching his phone in one hand, he quickly picked up his things that were strewn all over the room and threw them in his duffel. He also started packing John’s things and threw out their old, empty coffee cups and food wrappers.

When he picked up one of his father’s rank-smelling T-shirts from the couch, it unearthed John’s journal and Dean stopped cold. It had all the information about the supernatural anyone could want. John never left it behind.

Yet, this time he had. Maybe he just hadn’t been able to find it buried under his clothes and that was why he had taken off without it but somehow Dean doubted that. Nausea settled low in his belly.

He dropped the T-shirt to the floor and contemplated his phone again. If something had actually happened to his father – one of the most capable hunters Dean knew – it had to be something truly bad and he wasn’t sure he should go looking for it on his own. On the other hand, Sam was safe were he was, at Stanford, over a thousand miles away, and Dean wasn’t sure he could justify dragging him back into all of this.

He already had his thumb hovering over Bobby’s number to ask him for help when the phone rang in his hand. Dean jumped violently, nearly dropping it, then scrambling to answer. He didn’t even check the caller ID first, so desperate to hear from his father.

“Dad? Where are you, are you okay?”

There was heavy breathing on the other end of the line, static noise in the background. A voice that was decidedly not his father’s said, “Dean?”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat. “Sammy?”

More breathing. Somewhere in the background, a baby was crying. “’s Sam,” his little brother said and Dean could immediately tell that he was utterly wasted.

“What’s wrong?”

Sam hadn’t called him once since he had left for Stanford. The only times they had spoken had been Dean checking in.

“I,” Sam began before he fell silent and Dean’s fingers gripped the phone so hard his knuckles hurt. His father disappearing on the same day as his brother calling him completely shit-faced, something clearly wrong, was one hell of a coincidence.

He dug his knuckles into his temple. “Sammy, please tell me what’s going on.”

“Need help.”

Two simple words that instantly spurned Dean into action. Since he had already collected most of their things, he just grabbed his gun off the table and hauled the bags onto his shoulder.

“Sam, tell me what happened. Are you hurt?”

“No. She’s.”

Dean inwardly cursed. “She?”

“Yes,” Sam said and Dean resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn’t get much out of his brother until he had sobered up.

“Sam, listen to me. I’m coming but it’s going to take me a while to get there, okay? Stay where you are, I’m leaving right now.”

There wasn’t an answer, no indication that Sam had heard him. Dean could only hear him breathing again. Then the call disconnected.

Dean swore loudly, stuffed his phone into the pocket of his jeans and kicked the door shut behind him.

The Impala skidded a little as Dean tore out of the parking lot. It would be at least a fifteen-hour drive from Aspen, Colorado, to Palo Alto, even if he floored it and made good time, and he muttered curses to himself all the way to the Interstate. It was only too easy to imagine all kinds of horrible scenarios and Dean had to hold onto Sam’s assurance that he wasn’t hurt.

As he crossed the border into California, he realized he hadn’t thought of his father once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are love :) x


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm uploading this earlier than I had planned because _someone_ *side-eye toward comment section* threatened me with their angry face. I would like to thank everyone for their encouraging comments!

By the time Dean had arrived at Stanford campus, his fingers were cramping around the wheel, his eyes where stinging with exhaustion, and he felt slightly drunk and delirious from lack of sleep. He had driven through the entire night, his back hurting like a son of a bitch, and now it was going on 8 AM and the only thing keeping him going was the knowledge that his little brother was in trouble.

He pulled up outside Sam’s apartment, a place that he had never been to before. He had had to sift through his old text messages to unearth the address that Sam had given him two years ago. Which, other than last night, had been the last time they had spoken.

It was then that it hit Dean’s tired brain that he would get to see his little brother again, all he had to do was ring the doorbell. It was an exhilarating thought and suddenly he was restless and adrenaline helped him to stay on his feet when he exited the car and half-jogged up the walkway.

When his knocking and ringing didn’t yield any results, he fished the lock pick set he always carried out of his pocket and opened the rickety door with it. The inside of the apartment was dark and smelled rank like someone hadn’t so much as opened a window in a few days. A noise like a baby whimpering came from the bedroom and unease settled low and nauseating in Dean’s stomach. He tucked his gun out from the waistband of his jeans and held it trained in front of him as he rounded the corner from the living room into the bedroom, kicking the door open.

He nearly dropped the weapon when he finally spotted his brother on the bed, taking in his rumpled state, shoulders and head hunched forward. Dean’s first instinct was to throw his arms around him and make sure he was okay, but what stopped him was the small bundle lying on the bed in front of him. A baby moved sluggishly in the folds of the blanket wrapped around its tiny body. It was making little sounds that even to Dean’s untrained ears didn’t sound healthy. Babies were supposed to scream if they weren’t all right, not whimper pathetically.

He inched closer and the smell of the infant hit him, urine and feces as if its diaper hadn’t been changed for days. Dean nearly jumped out of his skin when Sam suddenly spoke.

“She’s gone.” His voice was hoarse, as if he had been screaming. Or hadn’t said a word in days. For how long had been sitting here?

“Who?” Dean asked but his attention was on the baby. The only conclusion he could come to was that it was Sam’s. But where was the mother?

Then it clicked for him. “Jesus,” he breathed, reaching out for Sam’s shoulder, trying to offer comfort. Another hiccup-y noise from the baby made him reconsider.

“Okay,” he said, “Okay. Listen. I’m gonna go out and get some … supplies. You wait right here, don’t move.” He didn’t think that would be a problem since Sam was practically non-responsive. Dean ached to touch him, hold him, and he wanted to pick up the child, too, make sure that it was all right, but he needed to find a convenience store first.

He didn’t have the first clue about supermarkets in Palo Alto and it was still too early in the morning for most of them to be open anyway, so he turned around the way he came and backtracked to the gas station he passed on the way to the campus. When he entered the small store, the clerk at the counter barely spared him a glance. If the child was actually Sam’s, chances were he had all of the required supplies at home but Dean didn’t feel confident enough in his ability to get Sam to coherently tell him where any of it was. So he sped through the aisles, grabbing diapers, wipes, cream, a feeding bottle and formula from the shelves and dropped it all in a heap in front of the clerk whose face now showed the first sign of actual emotion. Which, at the moment, seemed to be confusion.

He didn’t ask any questions, however, just rang Dean’s purchase up without comment. Dean didn’t wait for him to bag it all, he just crammed it into his arms and raced out the door, back to his car. He didn’t have the first idea what he was doing here. Of all the horrible scenarios he had imagined on the long drive to California, a freakin’ baby hadn’t featured in any of them.

It didn’t look like Sam had moved so much as a finger and Dean would have to deal with that in a minute. As long as he was breathing and not currently bleeding out, there was time, as much as Dean ached to stick close to him. The slowly dwindling sounds from the baby worried him more. He didn’t have any experience with children that small but this was about instinct.

He grabbed the child and it felt horrifyingly small in his arms. He had to breathe into his own sleeve to cope with the smell. In the bathroom, he unwrapped the blanket, looking away when he peeled the caked diaper off the newborn. He turned on the tab and gently washed the baby’s nether regions with lukewarm water.

He didn’t know why it hit him so hard then that it was a girl. Maybe because he hadn’t expected it to be … anything. Hadn’t thought it was real. But now it finally sank in, through his tiredness and his shock, that this was a human, everything pointing to it being Sam’s daughter, and that he was completely out of his depth on all accounts. The two people he had always gone to for help, his father and his brother, were both unavailable right now.

He was, for the first time in his life, truly alone.

Once he had the little girl clean and dry, he applied some of that cream he bought to her raw skin, and wrapped the blanket back around her after he had checked that it was still mostly clean. He would have to get her checked out at the doctor’s but for now, he prepared the infant formula as per the steps printed on the box, following them closer than he had followed any other instruction in his life.

It took him a minute to get the hang of it because he felt like he needed three hands for this, but then he sat down, took a deep breath and braced the baby in his lap so he could hold her head in one and the bottle in the other hand. She didn’t drink from it immediately and Dean was ready to pack her into the car and take her to the hospital right away, too uncertain what to do, but then she slowly started suckling on the nipple.

Dean closed his eyes as his pulse jumped, relief coursing through him. “Thank fuck.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this up earlier, but as always, life gets in the way, ya know? At least it's a bit longer than the previous chapters.

It seemed like an eternity until the bottle was empty but Dean didn’t move, ignoring the crick in his neck until the girl had drunken all of it. All the while he kept shooting glances at Sam who still hadn’t left his position on the bed.

Unwilling to let go of the child even after he had finished feeding her, he hefted her up into the crook of his arm and crawled onto the bed with his brother. He, too, smelled pretty stale but there was no way Dean could manhandle 6’4” of catatonic little brother into the shower while holding a tiny baby. One battle at a time.

“Hey, Sammy.”

No response.

“Listen, I took care of your baby girl. She’s fine now. But we should get her checked out at the hospital or something. Maybe you, too.”

Still nothing. Sam didn’t even raise his head to look at Dean.

Dean licked his dry lips. “She _is_ your daughter, right? Her mother, where is she?”

Sam breathed, “Jessica.”

Dean quickly nodded, crawling closer so his shoulder was pressed against Sam’s. “Yes, Jessica, good. Where is she?”

“Gone.”

“She’s dead?”

Dean recoiled when Sam’s head snapped up, wild hazel eyes boring into Dean. “We were together.”

“Okay.” Dean tried to keep his voice even while his heart galloped in his chest. He had never seen his brother this … unpredictable. Out of control. Strangely enough, the faint warmth from the child seeping through the blanket into his own chest helped him stay calm.

He had hoped Sam would continue explaining on his own but nothing was forthcoming.

“Alright, listen, suggestion,” Dean said, sliding off the bed. “Let’s get you and the newest family addition to the hospital, huh? Let you get checked out, and then we can… I’ll call Bobby, okay? I’m sure he won’t mind us crashing there for a while. Sammy, are you hearing me?”

Sam didn’t give any indication that he had, in fact, heard. Dean sighed, his shoulders slumping. Not that he had held much hope that his brother would just snap out of whatever this was.

He gathered the child close and hooked his other arm around Sam’s waist, grunting with the effort of lifting him.

“Hey, little brother, you gotta work with me here.”

“Dean?” Sam croaked, voice small and confused, and it surprised Dean so much that he nearly dropped him back to the bed.

“Yes, hey.” He brought his palm up to Sam’s face, cupped his jaw. “It’s me. You called me, remember? I came as fast as I could.”

Sam blinked up at him. “I remember.”

He didn’t volunteer anymore, just slumped more heavily against Dean’s side and Dean gritted his teeth, half-carrying, half-dragging his not-so-little brother out of the apartment and out to the parked car. He manhandled Sam into passenger seat and since he didn’t have a car seat for the little one, he kept her in the front with him, holding her with one hand while steering with the other. It was precarious and anything but safe but it only had to suffice for a bit.

After they had checked in at the hospital they were told to wait amongst the other people who were coughing, bleeding, and swearing, until a nurse whisked away the baby and Dean was left to tag along with Sam to one of the examination rooms. He was quickly ushered outside again by another, steel-gazed nurse and told to fill out the necessary paperwork at the front desk.

Instead, he sank to one of the chairs in the hallways, trying to gather himself. He scrubbed his fingers over his tired eyes, debating back and forth on getting himself a cup of shitty hospital coffee.

He was still staring blankly at the speckled linoleum floor ten minutes later when a kind-looking nurse approached him. “Mr. Winchester? You can see your daughter now.”

To Dean’s embarrassment, it took his sluggish brain way too long to process that. “She’s not–” He stopped himself. “Thank you. Is she okay?”

The nurse led him to her desk and handed him a clipboard to several documents to fill out and sign. His heart sank. He hadn’t thought to bring a fake ID, had given the hospital their real names, which meant that they were in the system now. He sighed and grabbed the ballpoint pen she was holding out to him.

“She is malnourished and we would like to keep her hear for another two hours at least to see how she responds to what we’re feeding her. Can you tell me anything about her … history?”

He noticed that she was keeping her distance to him, meeting him with professional politeness but her eyes were skeptical. She probably thought that he had mistreated the girl and it was an easy assumption to make.

He had to sit down.

“No,” he said, “I only just found out she exists. I’m not her father, my brother is. At least I think he is.”

“Oh,” she said, her mouth forming a perfect little O. Her face softened and in different circumstances Dean might have been attracted to her. “Anything about the mother?”

Dean shook his head. “Actually, I was hoping you might be able to tell me something about her.”

Her eyebrows crinkled. “How so?”

“I think she died. I don’t know how long ago but it can’t have been more than a few days since. I think,” he inhaled, “my brother, he’s completely checked out. He’s barely spoken since I came to see him, barely even responds to me. Even less to anything else.”

She made an understanding humming sound but Dean wasn’t even sure he understood it himself. “And you found him with the baby?”

“Yes. I was hoping … maybe you could check your records. I imagine she was born here.”

She smiled at him, a little sadly. “I can’t. It’s–”

“Patient confidentiality, I know. Believe me. But I’m grasping at straws here. My brother called me yesterday, drunk six ways to Monday, and told me he needed my help. Then I find him with a half-starved child, sans mother, and he won’t even talk to me. Just … please give me something.”

He was fully aware he was pleading with her, appealing to her in a personal way, but he was too tired to feel any remorse for it.

She looked up at him, large brown eyes full of sympathy for him, and Dean was sure she would refuse until finally, after nearly a minute, she sighed and said, “Okay. Follow me.”

He was about ready to collapse with relief when she brought him to her cubicle and typed something into her computer. “What’s your brother’s name?”

“Sam. Samuel. Winchester. Mother’s name might be Jessica.”

She typed the names and hit the ‘enter’ key. “He’s listed as the father to a girl who was born six days ago. The mother is a Jessica Moore.”

She turned to face him but Dean had to shrug. Sam had never mentioned her name to him before today. He couldn’t begin to know what else he had missed in his brother’s life. He would have thought that even if they weren’t on regular speaking terms, Sam would tell him about something as huge as having a flipping baby.

“What’s her name?” he asked.

“The baby’s? You don’t know?”

He shook his head.

The nurse turned to the screen, then back to him. “It doesn’t say. She must not have had an official name yet when they were released.”

Someone from behind them inquired, “Mr. Winchester?” and the nurse quickly clicked out of the computer system.

Dean turned to come face to face with stocky black woman whom he estimated to be about twice his age. She wore glasses and a long white coat. “Dr. Silver,” she introduced herself.

Dean held his breath until she continued, “Your brother has had a very serious mental breakdown. He seems to be in fine physical condition but he doesn’t respond to touch or to any of our questions. Did he say anything to you?”

“Not really,” Dean conceded, “He called me for help yesterday and he was drunk and upset but coherent, for the most part. Today, he kept saying ‘She’s gone’ and he wouldn’t look at the baby at all. He finally seemed to notice me a couple of hours ago just before we came here but I’ve been with him since this morning.”

The doctor nodded, looking down to check something on her clipboard. “Grief is a strange thing,” she said, “and people have very different reactions to it.”

Oh, did Dean ever know.

“I can’t say what tomorrow or the day after will look like for your brother, but I can recommend some institutes in the area that do great work in the field of trauma recovery and grief counseling.”

Dean nodded, acknowledging her suggestion even though he knew he wouldn’t follow up on it. The sooner they could be on the road to Bobby’s the better. Sam might need help, but so did Dean.

He thanked her before she excused herself to be with other patients. He turned back to the helpful nurse. He finally caught a glimpse of her name tag, giving her away as ‘Mandy’. “I’m know I’m straining my luck here but could you do me one last favor?”

She smiled. “What?”

“Can you tell me how she died? If she was admitted here for something that is.”

Mandy’s smile dimmed but she checked the computer. “She was admitted with a stab wound but she died before we could get her into surgery.” Her voice wavered a little at the end and Dean immediately sympathized with her. He knew firsthand was it felt like to think you could save someone only to have them die practically right in front of you.

“I don’t suspect you know who stabbed her?”

“I think I do, actually.”

Dean, who had dropped his chin to his chest in defeat, straightened up. “How?”

“Around here it’s kind of a tight-knit community.”

One of those that Dean usually hated with a passion. Turns out they could have their advantages.

She continued, “There was a burglary-gone-wrong a few days ago. Just some kid, I think. He even turned himself in, said he didn’t mean to hurt anyone. The usual.”

Dean didn’t think he wanted to know what else this woman regarded as ‘usual’. Although he figured she hadn’t exactly picked the job to be squeamish.

If Jessica had been home alone when being surprised by someone breaking in, who had then stabbed her in the affect, Dean was sure Sam blamed himself for it, no matter how irrational the thought. Maybe he even blamed the baby, while made even less sense from an objective point of view, because while Sam had barely looked at Dean twice, he had actively looked away from the baby when she had come too close to him, like in the front seat of the car. Sam had practically pressed himself into the passenger side door in order to get away from her.

Dean ached all over, physically and emotionally, for himself and for Sam. And for the little girl who was an innocent participant in all of this and who would now grow up without a mother because of a tragic coincidence, just like he and Sam had. Only this seemed not to belong to the realm of the supernatural and was thus out of his jurisdiction. Somehow, that made him feel even worse.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this being so short but it's gonna be slow-going for a while. Christmas time is insanity, y'all.

Dean’s hand was cramping by the time he had finished filling out the release forms. He sat in the waiting room next to his brother who simply continued to stare into thin air, not saying a word, until the same nurse from before, Mandy, waved him close again and told him they could take the girl with them now. Her pretty face morphed into a grave expression when she handed Dean another document.

He skimmed it, then looked at her while dread tightened his chest. “This is a form to accept legal guardianship.”

“I understand if you can’t but if you don’t sign this, we will have to contact other living relatives. Until your brother is better.” Her tone revealed nothing except sympathy, guideline diplomacy lining her words.

Dean swallowed. “There’s no one else.” He still had no idea where his father was, if he was still alive – and even if he was, Dean doubted he would be much help. He had to try to solve one problem after the other.

Mandy nodded at him, pity in her kind eyes, and Dean had to look away. He cleared his throat. “No, it’s–I’ll do it.”

Before he could rethink it – and because he didn’t have another choice – he grabbed the pen she held out to him and scribbled his name on the form. He hadn’t thought to give fake names for them when they came in so now, he, Dean Winchester, acted as legal guardian for one tiny, nameless little girl.

The mere notion of it scared the shit out of him. Usually, he would go to Sam with crap like this, would trust him to always have his back even if they hadn’t seen each other in years, but Sam had checked out for now and left Dean to pick up the pieces.

 

Calling his father yet again didn’t leave him with anything but disappointment. He had blown his last bit of cash on a car seat for the little girl, who was now sleeping soundly strapped into it. Sam was staring blankly out of the front seat window, showing still no indication that he in any way understood what was going on. He hadn’t even reacted to Dean telling him about their father’s disappearance.

Dean sighed and stared down at his phone with a scowl as if it was in any way to blame for the lack of luck he was having. His thumb hit the quick call button for Bobby.

The old man grumbled something when he answered that Dean didn’t catch. “‘lo?”

“Hey, Bobby, me again.”

Bobby’s voice took on an apologetic note. “I still don’t got anything on your daddy.”

“Yeah, that’s not why I’m calling.” Dean glanced over at his non-moving brother. The only sign of life from Sam was his breath fogging up the window pane.

“What is it?”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“How ‘bout the beginning?”

Dean shook his head even if Bobby couldn’t see. “I’m in California. Got Sam from Stanford. It’s … I’ll explain later, okay? Listen, can we crash with you for a while?”

Bobby muttered something under his breath and it sounded like ‘What did you boys get yourself into now’. “You don’t have to ask, son.”

Dean closed his eyes and, covering the microphone, breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks. I’ll call you when we roll into town.”

“Dean?”

Dean had been about to hang up. “Yeah?”

“You sound tired. It’s one hell of a drive.”

The ‘Get some sleep’ is heavily implied. Dean rubbed his brow.

“Yeah. Thanks again.” He hung up, thrusting his phone into his jacket pocket. He knew he was too tired to drive but at the same time he was too wired to sleep.

“Alright,” he said to no one in particular, “Let’s get.”

He kept the radio off so as not to wake the slumbering baby but he only made it about an hour before his vision began to swim and he jumped when suddenly a couple of sobs came from the backseat before the infant broke into a full-out wail.

“Crap,” Dean muttered and threw the car in park after pulling over to the shoulder. Sam didn’t even look like he registered the crying.

Dean crawled into the backseat and grabbed one of the pre-made bottles he had taken with him from the hospital. The sound of the cries was grating on his nerves and it wasn’t at all the girl’s fault that Dean hadn’t slept but a headache had started up behind his temples and he blew out a frustrated breath. He unstrapped the baby from the seat and gathered her close, leaning back against the leather seat.

He was utterly exhausted. It wouldn’t hurt to close his eyes for a bit, would it?

When he came back around it was getting chilly in the car, the feeding bottle was empty and lying at Dean’s feet. He must have dropped it when he had dozed off. The girl in his lap was making small noises, grasping at thin air and on instinct, he held out his finger to her. She held onto it with a surprisingly strong grasp.

He looked up, automatically checking for Sam, but the front seat was empty. Before panic had time to rise in his throat, Dean spotted him outside, relieving himself into the tall grass. Dean rubbed his eyes, sinking further into the seat, still holding on to the infant. He lifted her to briefly check her for wetness, thanking the gods that did not yet have to learn how to change a diaper. It would come soon enough.

The girl – he would have to find out her name or give her one in the meantime, even if just for himself, because he was tired of thinking of her as ‘The Baby’ – let go of his finger when he tugged on it and didn’t complain when he strapped her back into her seat, just smacked her teensy lips a couple of times. The clock on the dashboard of the car told Dean that he had been asleep for just shy of forty minutes and the crick in his neck confirmed it.

He stretched with a groan and climbed out of the backseat, back behind the wheel. Sam was standing outside the car, one hand on the roof, staring into space. He didn’t make any move to get back into his side. Dean dropped his forehead against the steering wheel, by some miracle missing the horn. It would decidedly not have been fun to soothe a distraught baby that had been upset by the noise.

Dean leaned over and rolled down the passenger window. “Sam!” he called, “Get your ass back in here.”

Sam very slowly turned around and blinked at him through the open window. It was the first response to Dean addressing him directly he had shown today and Dean couldn’t clamp down on the spark of hope blooming inside of him.

“Get in,” he repeated, “We gotta go.”

It took a while for Sam to fold all his limbs back into the car and once he had, he continued to stare out the window just as blankly as before. But he had listened to Dean, had registered being spoken to, and that was something.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking so long to upload.

Four feedings and two diaper stops later, Dean was ready to fall asleep behind the wheel and they hadn’t even made it out of Nevada. To Dean it felt like they had been in Nevada for weeks. The sun had gone down a while ago and the darkness did nothing to improve Dean’s weariness.

He finally gave in passing through Eureka and booked them a room for the night. He left their bags in the car and instead lifted the fussy infant out of her car seat. She wasn’t crying exactly but she was visible unhappy with being stuck in the same position for so long. As a child, Dean had always liked the movements of the car and he remembered a little Sam knocking right out as soon as they had hit the road while Dean was allowed to stay in the front seat with their father and fiddle with the radio stations. But that was long after he had to have been chained to a car seat. However, he remembered sitting with Little Sammy in the back, playing with him, talking to the infant when he had become whiny on long drives.

Now, he rocked the little girl against his chest, her tiny hands curled into fists, her face screwed up as if she was about to start crying any second and Dean was too exhausted for this. He hadn’t been prepared to deal with something like this, had no idea what he was doing, and there was still Sam to take care of. He sighed, scrubbed his eyes with his knuckles.

Shifting the baby in his arms so he had one hand free, he grabbed his duffel bag, slung it over his shoulder before reaching for the supplies bag he put together in a haste. He owned a diaper bag now. Because, apparently, this was his life.

“Sam, you coming?” he asked through the half-open car window. His brother didn’t give any indication that he had heard.

Dean cursed loudly. “Sammy, please work with me here.” He knocked on the window with his elbow, all hands occupied. The child and the bags over his shoulder were getting heavier with every passing second.

“Goddammit.” Dean turned his eyes heavenward, silently praying to a God he didn’t even believe in, before he closed them.

He left Sam sitting in the car, located their room and unlocked it. He dropped the bags by the door, then gently put the baby down on the bed, wrapped in her blanket and kicking softly, making tiny hiccuping noises that thankfully didn’t sound upset to Dean, before he jogged back to the car to haul his brother out of the passenger side.

To Dean’s surprise, Sam had already gotten out by himself, standing next to the car, looking blank and a little lost.

“Hey there, Sammy,” Dean greeted him, putting a gently hand on his brother’s arm. “You ready for bed? I know I am.”

Sam didn’t give an answer and it wasn’t that Dean had expected one, but Sam did turn his head to look at Dean. It was these occasional indications, however small they might be, that Sam was responding to him that gave Dean hope.

“Come on,” he said, urging Sam into step beside him.

In their room, he motioned for Sam to sit down on the bed currently not occupied by a small child and Sam complied. Dean briefly contemplated the advantages of wrestling his brother into the shower because frankly, he stank, but Dean was barely awake enough to take off his own shoes, not to mentions his brother’s entire ensemble.

On second thought, maybe he should have gotten a room with a king instead of two queens because despite his little brother’s unpleasant odor, Dean was loath to leave his side for even a few hours while he was knocked out.

He picked the little girl back up, putting her down between himself on the bed so she wouldn’t accidentally fall off the edge but as soon as Dean had settled in, Sam stood back up.

“Sam? What is it?”

Sam was standing in the dark next to the bed, not moving, and to be honest, it was unnerving. Dean had never in his life been scared of his little brother, but right now, every instinct in him was screaming at him to scoot back. He instinctively wrapped an arm around the baby, who had nodded off into sleep again.

Then it registered in his tired brain that Sam was staring at the little girl as if she was about to infect him with something. He looked equal parts terrified and disgusted and Dean didn’t know what to make off that.

“Okay,” he offered quietly, “Okay,” and moved the baby to his other side, turning his back to Sam so the girl was out of Sam’s line of sight. Then he patted the empty space behind him.

“Come on, Sammy, lie back down. Get some sleep.”

Sam didn’t budge and Dean was so exhausted, feeling so utterly helpless, that he was five seconds away from crying. He squeezed his eyes shut against the burn, the hot wetness threatening to spill, and breathed in the powdery smell of the snuffling infant next to him. Somehow, it was comforting.

Just before he was about to drop into blissful darkness, he felt the mattress dip behind him, Sam’s body heat against his back.

 

Dean was woken up by an unpleasant sound drilling into his subconscious. Bleary-eyed, he dragged himself to the surface, blinking out of his sleep haze while it was still dark outside. The baby in his arms was crying, kicking with her tiny legs, and Dean propped himself up on his elbows, shaky with exhaustion, head hanging low while he allowed precisely ten seconds to feel sorry for himself. Then he got up to prepare a feeding bottle.

He changed her diaper while the powder dissolved in the water and he thought he was actually getting better at this. It was almost hilarious. He had known how to hold a rifle since he was eight, learned how to bullseye a knife or an arrow before he hit puberty, and had carried fake IDs, badges, and credit cards since the age of sixteen when he had still been too pimply to pass as law enforcement and more bark than bite. He never missed a shot, could probably name all the monsters described in his father’s journal in alphabetical order if asked, but at twenty-six it eluded him entirely how he was supposed to change a child’s diaper without ending up covered in some type of excrement. Especially when he was essentially seeing double thanks to his lack of restful sleep.

It was barely midnight, which meant he had gotten about three hours. He planned on heading out early in the morning and maybe he would make the drive to Bobby’s until the end of the day. It was probably going to be excruciating with an unhappy infant in the backseat and his brother with the blank stare in the front, running on a lower than average – which was already fairly low for a Winchester –amount of sleep thanks to said needy infant and said unhelpful brother.

Dean sighed and sat on the bed, scooting back against the headboard, the baby in his arms, now greedily sucking from the nipple of the bottle. It was instinctive now, automatic, the way he was holding both the girl and the bottle. It no longer felt awkward. In fact, it felt kind of nice. Like he could get used to it.


	6. Chapter 6

The next time he woke, he sprang into action faster, ready before the baby even had a chance to start wailing. It was a nice, not to have his eardrums split in two before he had dragged himself to full wakefulness. This time when he went to lie back down he found Sam awake and staring right up at him and he nearly jumped a foot into the air.

His heart was pounding as he sunk to the mattress next to his brother, definitely a lot more awake than he had been seconds ago.

“Heyah, Sammy,” he said, settling back in.

Sam followed his movement with his eyes but didn’t say anything. Dean hadn’t thought he would one day miss his little brother’s voice, miss him bitch and whine and disagree with Dean’s every word. It nearly brought him to the brink of tears again and he quickly blinked them away, scrunched up his nose. This wasn’t the time.

He propped himself up with some pillows so he was half-lying half-sitting with the baby girl on his chest, tiny fist clenched in the fabric of his T-shirt. He carefully lifted a hand to Sam’s cheek, brushing over the sharp bone to cup his palm around the back of his head, pinky finger curling in the greasy hair at the nape of Sam’s neck.

Sam didn’t flinch away from him and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. The touch grounded him and he dared to slowly, gently push Sam back down to the bed. Dean didn’t know whether to be relieved or concerned that his brother didn’t even resist him a little bit. He didn’t close his eyes, though, just kept looking at Dean.

Dean kept his hand on his brother’s shoulder, feeling his chest rise and fall evenly with every breath. It was reassuring enough, allowing Dean to close his eyes and lie back, aware of his brother’s solid presence at his side and the sleepy sounds of the girl on his chest.

Quietly humming the melody to Metallica’s Nothing Else Matters under his breath, he eventually drifted back into sleep.

 

The baby woke up cranky and demanding breakfast and honestly, Dean was so with her on that. Sam, as ever, didn’t give any indication that he was tired, hungry, or in need of anything else. One thing Dean knew was that the both of them were in need of a shower, Sam more so than he was. Taking one look at the tiny motel room shower, however, made him decide that it could wait until they had reached Sioux Falls.

With feeling more awake came feeling restless, although it was a mercy not be in danger of nodding off behind the wheel and landing them in a ditch by the highway. He gave the room a once-over once he had packed everything and everyone into the Impala, then returned the key to the receptionist who was blinking blearily at him. After all, it was barely seven o’clock.

In his life, Dean had never even considered flying as a valid option of travel because he would sooner cut off his little toe than step on one of those death traps people call airplanes, but now, with a disgruntled infant on a cross-country trip lasting a day and a half, for the first time he was honestly considering it. Not as an actual option because he would have to leave his Baby behind but he could see the appeal of eating up the distance in but a few hours.

 

He drove through the gate that said _Singer Salvage_ at just after three in the morning the next day, his fingers locked tight around the wheel, eyes dry, and his legs cramping in the confinement the car. If Sam hadn’t temporarily checked out, he would no doubt have started complaining about the lack of space somewhere around Casper. Dean thought he actually would have preferred that to the silence. Right now, he would take anything, even insults. He would be ecstatic about Sam getting in his face about dragging him away from the city where his girlfriend was murdered, for skipping the funeral, for not allowing him to say goodbye. Dean wanted punches to be thrown, longed for the screaming and the blame hurled his way. He would take all of that over this stoic shell of his brother, who complied with everything Dean said and never uttered a word.

To say Bobby looked worried when he greeted them at the door was an understatement. He took in Dean’s exhaustion, Sam’s unresponsiveness, and then his eyes widened when they fell to the squirming bundle in Dean’s arms.

“Dean–”

“In a minute,” Dean said, voice rough with disuse after having been alone with his thoughts in the car. He had started talking to the baby crossing the border into Wyoming but soon grown tired of it when, predictably, no answer had been forthcoming.

He handed the baby to Bobby, who took her from him without question. She didn’t even stir, continued to sleep soundly. Dean wished he had that peace of mind.

He dragged Sam behind him to the bathroom because he couldn’t stand it anymore. Couldn’t stand seeing Sam like this, couldn’t stand the feeling of two days’ worth of sweat clinging to his own skin, so he filled the tub with hot water, while he stripped his brother down and tried not to feel too guilty about it, like he was violating him. Then he got rid of his own clothes and launched them at the hamper in the corner. They fell a few feet short but he didn’t have the energy to go and pick them up.

Once the tub had filled, he pushed Sam toward it, sending thank-you prayers to whoever was listening – or not – that Sam at least seemed to be capable of autonomous motor function. When he slid into the tub – that was definitely too small for two grown men – behind his brother, drawing his knees up against Sam’s side, it reminded him of the time before they had grown into teenagers, taking baths just like this more often than not until their father had decided they were too old for it.

Well, their father wasn’t here now, and wasn’t that the crux of the problem.

Dean had dumped about half a bottle of shower gel into the water prior to getting in and now he watched his brother glide his hands absently through the foam it had produced. He scooped soapy up water with his palms and let it run over Sam’s shoulders, down his back. He wetted Sam’s hair, massaging more of the shower gel into the clotted strands, unable to keep himself from thinking that Sam would absolutely bitch at him for this, for using simple shower gel instead of that fancy shampoo Sam liked to use that somehow always left his hair smelling like citrus.

Of course Dean didn’t know whether Sam even still liked that, if he still used it at all. Four years were a long time, especially for the Winchesters who had always been too close for comfort. And now here they were, sitting in a tub with sparkly foam and Dean washing Sam’s hair as if they were still four and eight. Dean remembered Sam making quaking noises as he played with the rubber duck, never holding still long enough for Dean to rise the shampoo out of his hair and inevitably getting it in his eyes.

The memory was a nice one, designed to make Dean smile, but this twisted mirror image of their childhood, it just hurt. Hurt enough to constrict Dean’s chest and keep him from breathing.

Hot tears mingled with the cooling bath water and Dean wiped them away with an angry swipe. He quickly washed his own hair with the same shower gel, the bottle almost empty now, then rinsed both of them off and tugged Sam out of the tub, wrapping him in a towel. All his actions were the same as those two decades ago but now Sam had three inches of height on him and a least twenty pounds of muscle despite having been playing the civilian for four years, and it was all so wrong. Dean searched his brother’s face for some kind of recognition. Hell, he would even take indignation at having his privacy invaded like this, just something. Anything.

Sam eyes were on him, unblinking, following Dean’s motions as he dried both of them off with the same towel, then untidily draped it over the side of the tub to dry.

It had almost become normal, reassuring, to have Sam’s focus on him like that. To Dean, it meant that his brother hadn’t entirely checked out, that he was at least aware of what was happening around him and that Dean was here, and for the moment, that had to be enough.

A knock on the door startled him. It wasn’t locked but Bobby still had some qualms when it came to personal space, something that couldn’t be said for the Winchesters. “You boys okay in there?”

“Yeah,” Dean returned, “Be out in a bit.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long. Frankly, I don't know how regularly I'll be able to update in the future because I've run out of pre-written chapters and it's finals time, soooo... Sawry?
> 
> BTW, I adjusted Jody's timeline for my purposed here.

Once he had manhandled his not-so-little brother into the bed in the guest room, Dean finally allowed himself to breathe, to take a moment. Bobby found him, eyes closed, leaning against the door from the outside. He was still carrying the baby in his arms, though now she was wrapped in a different –clean – blanket. If Dean wasn’t so tired, he was sure he would appreciate the picture more.

“Wanna explain now or sleep first?” Bobby asked with the hint of a smile and Dean felt a rush of affection for the old man.

“Let me get some pants on,” he said, voice scratchy, and headed back into the guest room where Sam was sleeping. He looked completely normal in his sleep, at peace even, and Dean had no idea where to begin with all of this. He hadn’t had the time or the presence of mind to pack clothes for Sam, so he had picked out the biggest pair of sweatpants and loosest T-shirt of his he had been able to find. If it was at all possible, Sam had grown even more over the past four years they hadn’t seen each other.

Now, Dean dressed himself in sweats and an old T-shirt, then headed down to Bobby’s kitchen on bare feet. It was going on four o’clock in the morning and Dean suspected that the baby would wake up soon and demand food. God, how did other people do this?

Bobby put a mug of steaming hot coffee down in front of Dean, who had taken a seat at the rickety table, and Dean nearly face-planted into it, overcome with gratitude. He wasn’t cold but he cupped his palms around it regardless.

“Sam called me, said he needed my help.” He scratched the back of his head, remembering the small, scratchy voice of his brother floating through the telephone. “I found him with this little one.” He gestured to the girl who was sleeping peacefully in the armchair nearby. They would have to get a crib or something.

God, there were so many things to think about, to remember, and Dean was so overwhelmed already. Clearing his throat, he continued, “I got them checked out at the hospital and–they say that _physically_ Sam’s fine but he’s in some kind of stupor or something. I can’t get him to talk to me. He just … stares.” He shivers slightly, “And he won’t go near her.”

Bobby’s gaze automatically traveled to the baby girl. He made a ‘hm’ sound. “’s not the weirdest thing we’ve seen. The mother died?”

“Apparently,” Dean shrugged, “There was a burglary that ended with the house owner dead. At least that’s what one of the nurses at the hospital told me. Not one hundred percent certain it’s connected, though.”

Bobby’s eyebrows drew together. “You think it’s something supernatural? Demon?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. But I couldn’t–I needed help,” he said, not looking at the old man, “I might go back eventually, ask around, see if I can get something out of someone, you know the drill.”

Bobby made that humming sound again. “And if it was just a burglary gone wrong?”

“Then I don’t know how to make this better,” Dean replied helplessly, twining his fingers together on the table.

“I suggest you get some sleep and we’ll regroup in the morning.” Bobby gave him a sharp look. “Knowing you, you drove straight through despite my tellin’ you not to.”

“Not _completely_ straight through,” Dean muttered and reveled in Bobby’s put-upon sigh. “Thank you, Bobby. I mean it.”

The old man regarded him for a moment. “You boys are gonna be the death of me.”

Dean gave a weak laugh despite himself. “Yeah.”

He finished his coffee and made his slow, heavy way upstairs with his newly acquired diaper bag and the baby, who naturally woke up just as he had reached the top of the stairs. Who knew that it was even more difficult to change a diaper when you’re exhausted beyond comprehension?

Half an hour later, he dropped onto the mattress next to his brother, who barely stirred. Dean sighed. At least one of them got some sleep.

He couldn’t find it in him to be mad at Sam although he _really_ wanted to be. Wanted to be furious, to shake Sam by the shoulders and yell at him to snap out of it. Not that that was likely to have any effect but maybe it would make Dean feel like he had done what he could.

Keeping the baby close against his chest, his back to his brother on the narrow bed, he eventually fell into a dead sleep.

 

He woke up when he sensed someone standing next to him. The baby’s upset mumbling permeated his sleep haze and he shot up off the bed, dizziness blinding him for all of two seconds.

“Jus’ me,” Bobby said, voice low, and put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean slumped over in relief, adrenaline making his fingers shake.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothin’. Thought I’d take care of her for a change and let you sleep.”

Dean had barely noticed that the old man had scooped up the baby, cradling her against his chest. Dean was overwhelmed with gratitude, tired beyond belief, but at the same time he was reluctant to let her out of his sight.

“You sure?” he asked, not leaving time for Bobby’s reply, “You gotta hold her head up–”

Bobby’s quiet chuckle interrupted him and he could feel himself flush hot. “This ain’t my first rodeo, son.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “Sure. Thanks.”

He sunk back to the bed, watching Bobby through half-lidded eyes. “You know how to–”

“Yes, _mommy_.”

Dean allowed a smile and closed his eyes. “Fair enough. Night, Bobby.”

“Night, kiddo.”

Dean was back asleep so fast, he didn’t even hear the door close.

 

The next time Dean woke up it was light outside. He definitely felt more rested and less exhausted but he was also itching to get moving. It was too quiet in the guest room and it made Dean feel lost after the flurry of the past two days.

As he sat up he noticed the other side of the bed was empty, no Sam to stare blankly at him, and Dean momentarily panicked. There weren’t many places Sam could go around here but the guy was still too unpredictable for Dean not to be worried.

He pushed himself up and padded down the stars on bare feet, rubbing a hand over his eyes, through his hair.

Sat at the kitchen table was a women Dean didn’t recognize. She was wearing a Sheriff’s uniform and she spoke to someone on the phone, instantly making him nervous. Had Bobby called the authorities because he thought they couldn’t deal with this situation on their own?

He spotted Sam in the study on the sofa and some of the nervous tension dissipated. He still looked empty, lost, and way too pale and young, but he was there – and that had to be enough for the moment.

Bobby rounded the corner, nearly running into Dean who had stopped right in the hallway.

“Mornin’, sleeping beauty,” he grunted but he was smiling and Dean gently elbowed him in the side.

“Who’s this?” He nodded at the women in the kitchen.

“A friend,” Bobby replied cryptically. “She … brought some stuff for the baby.”

His voice took on a strange note and Dean’s brows drew together. Before he could ask, the woman got up from the table.

“Hey Dean,” she said, “I’m Jody. Bobby called me, said you’re having a parenthood crisis.”

She was smiling at him with no hint of pity or condescension and Dean decided he liked her. He realized that she wasn’t here in her official position as Sheriff but as a friend.

She gestured to the study. “I brought a new home for the little one.”

For a split-second Dean thought she was referring to Sam and confusion crinkled his brows but then he spotted the crib in the far corner of the room where he could just so make out the baby’s tiny kicking legs.

“I also got some toys, though she’s not old enough for those yet, but you know.” She shrugged and Dean wasn’t entirely sure what ‘you know’ meant but he reckoned he could figure it out as he went along. Not like he had a lot of other options right now.

Somehow, it all made it seem more real. It wasn’t just a temporary situation now. No more keeping his brother’s daughter against his chest in fleeting motels but rather there was a crib now – a proper place to sleep – and a changing table in Bobby’s guest bathroom, albeit a make-shift one.

For once, it looked like the Winchesters were staying.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for ending this chapter on such an angsty note. As you know, this is still slow-going for me but I expect to have more time (or any at all, really) to write from March on.

Dean was on his second cup of coffee by the time he found the courage to ask, “So how do you two know each other?”

He had already worked his way through way too many pancakes, completely starved after eating nothing but the occasional gas station chocolate bar for two days. And, anyway, Jody made way better pancakes than Bobby did. Not that he was gonna tell the old man that.

To to be honest, Dean had expected the women to leave after bringing the things over and saying hello because it was obvious from the way she kept zoning out and fidgeting that she was uncomfortable. Her gaze kept flicking to the baby dozing in the newly acquired crib and he’s seen that look before. It had been on Sam’s face on and off throughout their journey to Sioux Falls when Dean had moved too close into his space while holding the little girl. Dean was starting to think maybe there was something about her that he wasn’t seeing.

Bobby cleared his throat next to him and he had been acting a little strangely around the women he claimed was his friend all morning. Dean felt like he was intruding on something but he was too tired to figure it out diplomatically. He regarded Bobby with raised eyebrows, sipping his coffee.

In the end, it was Jody who spoke up first. “About a year ago, Bobby helped me when … my husband was killed by–” She stopped and Dean already regretted asking. “By our son,” she finished, brandishing a shaky hand.

“He’d been turned into a ghoul,” Bobby filled in, “I took care of it.”

Dean only knew too well what that meant and his heart sank. He could kick himself for dredging it up again for the poor women. Then again, that wasn’t exactly something you ever forgot about.

Jody gave him a small smile and Dean thought he caught Bobby’s hand reaching for hers under the table. Maybe there was more to their friendship but Dean definitely wasn’t opening _that_ can of worms.

He opened his mouth to give Jody one of those ‘I’m sorry’s’ that, while genuinely heartfelt, always sounded way too trite. Instead, his focus was interrupted by Sam rising off the couch in the study and walking toward the front door. He didn’t pay any of them any mind and Dean was frozen for a beat too long and the door fell shut before he could call after his brother. He craned his head out the window and it seemed as if Sam had stopped in the middle of the driveway out front, arms limp at his sides and staring into space. His chest contracted.

Then a realization hit him and he went cold all over. He turned back around. “So the baby stuff–”

Jody nodded, head tilted and another one of those weak smiles in the corners of her mouth. “Yeah. It was time and you can make much better use of it than I can.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, his eyes automatically focusing on the baby sleeping in the crib next to Bobby’s desk. He would carry it upstairs later.

A small stab of regret pierced his stomach at the thought that he wouldn’t be able to hold the little girl close to his chest anymore while sleeping. It was probably for the best not to get too attached but it saddened him a little regardless.

“Did Sam eat?” he asked Bobby who had presumably been up first.

The old man shook his head, regret in his features. “Maybe you can get somethin’ down his throat. He wouldn’t react t’me.”

Dean sighed. “I’ll try. Get me some of those left-over pancakes, will ya?”

While Bobby shoveled some on a place and covered them in maple syrup, Dean addressed Jody again. “To be honest,” he said, “at first I thought you were here to take her away.”

Her eyes narrowed in confusion, then she looked down on herself. “Oh, Sheriff, right,” she said with a small laugh. “No, I’m just. Helping out.” Her gaze snagged on Bobby who was bustling around at the stove and now Dean was convinced that were was _something_ between them _._ He nearly smirked to himself but it would have been inappropriate. Especially after what she had told him about her family.

God, he couldn’t even imagine. He automatically checked on the baby in the other room and on Sam through the window. Predictably, he hadn’t moved.

Dean sighed and gestured for Bobby to hand him the plate. He got syrup on his thumb as he walked outside, down the front porch steps to where Sam was standing rooted to the spot.

“Hey, Sammy.” He came up beside his brother. “You sleep okay?”

He didn’t really expect an answer but the disappointment when Sam remained mute still made him ache. “I brought you some food. You gotta eat, huh? You haven’t eaten in … shit, I don’t even know how long.” Dean swallowed the thickness in his throat as he looked up at Sam’s stoic expression. “Just … eat something.” He held up the plate, practically under Sam’s nose. “Please?”

When nothing was forthcoming, he sighed and lowered his arm again. “Hey, why’d you leave the room just then?” he changed tactics, “Was it–Was it Jody talking about her family?”

Dean thought he saw Sam flinch but it could have been a trick of the light since he had to squint up against the sun. “Is it … because of Jessica? Do you wanna talk about–“

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before Sam turned on the spot and marched back inside without so much as a word, leaving Dean reeling and no less confused.

Standing there with the plate in his hand, maple syrup dripping onto his fingers, he allowed himself a moment to mourn the easy annoyance he used to induce in his brother, the rebelion typical for younger siblings. He missed Sam’s hotheadedness and refusal to agree with Dean or John on _anything_. Dean wished Sam would get angry. Anything but this.

With a heavy heart, he eventually followed his brother inside. Sam had taken his old place on the sofa, sitting by the far side, visibly putting as much distance as he comfortably could between himself and the the crib by the opposite wall. Dean approached the sofa and put the sticky place down beside Sam’s elbow on the small side table.

“In case you do get hungry,” he said, then turned back to the kitchen.

Jody was watching him closely as he sat down and he steeled himself to be pitied or asked about Sam’s condition. Instead, she said, “What’s the baby’s name?”

Dean blinked at her. “I–I don’t know, truthfully.”

“You don’t know?” Her eyebrows rose and Dean instantly felt defensive.

“He never told me about her. Or his girlfriend. It was the first time I even heard from him in two years.”

She said nothing, only kept looking at him with an interesting stern softness, one that Dean knew mothers often had. He didn’t know how he felt about it. He had to admit that it was nice to have another person here, someone who actually knew what the hell they were doing – because as awesome as Bobby was, there wasn’t all that much he could teach Dean on childcare.

All of a sudden, he fiercely missed his father. But what’s more, he missed his mother. And with every fiber of his being, he missed his brother.


End file.
